An Ocean of Powder and Smoke
by saltycrow
Summary: Modern AU. Eleanor Guthrie planned to go to college, to escape her life and family. Instead she finds herself caught up in a life of crime, and in the arms of a man who sucks her in deeper.
1. Chapter 1

Eleanor had always been quick to anger. Sometimes she was able to keep it under control, but often that anger would spill over and manifest itself in unpredictable ways. Today was one of those days when she was coming scarily close to losing it. Sitting in the California traffic with a broken AC could have cracked even a soul much more peaceful than Eleanor. She gritted her teeth and tried to desperately feel a breeze by sticking her head out of the window. Torture, this was absolute torture, she thought. The line seemed to be moving at the speed of a tortoise and she felt like screaming. Nothing in here moved any faster than she did, until from the driver's side a man on a motorcycle was making its way ahead of her. And suddenly she could no longer hold in her anger, it spilled, and before she knew it, she was honking her car horn at the man on the motorcycle, and then, flying open the door and getting out of the car to stand on the motorway. The man had come to a halt. He was on a shining Harley Davidson, wearing a black leather jacket with an image of a skull facing a sword printed on the back. His head was uncovered, his long hair on his shoulders. Slowly he turned around to look what all the fuss was about.

"Can't you fucking wait for your turn like everyone else!" Eleanor found herself screaming. There was not an ounce of fear in her, her jaw set and her chin up in a defiant manner. The man slowly removed the Ray Ban sunglasses he had been wearing and unbelievably, cracked a smile.

"You can always hop on, angel," he said and patted the seat on the back of his bike. Oh hell no, she was having none of that.

"Okay, first of all, I am not your angel, second, just wait in line like everyone else!" The heat outside the car was even more unbearable, as the direct sunlight hit her face, the curls framing her face seemed to now be plastered on to her skin and the redness that came with the anger was not a good look on her, but she did not give a shit.

"Now, why would I wait when I can just do whatever the fuck I want, _angel?_ " his voice was hard and raspy. So deep it sent shivers down her spine even in this heat.

Perhaps it was the heat, or perhaps it was the undeniable attractiveness of the man in front of her, but she, for the first time in her life, was lost for words.

"Oh fuck you!" she shouted and pulled open her car door with considerably too much force.

"You offering? Cause you clearly need one," he mused. She flipped him the finger and stepped into the car, slamming the door closed. The man put his sunglasses back on and nodded at her, then speeding away. _Fucking asshole,_ she cursed and felt like slamming her head against the steering wheel. What a fucking morning. As the line finally started moving, she glanced at her watch. She might just make it to her high school graduation after all.

* * *

Eleanor did make it, after all. She rushed through the high school hallways and into the bathroom to fix her makeup and do something with her hair, as it still seemed to be stuck to her face. She sighed as she looked at herself in the mirror and finally put on her gown and cap, placing the tassel on its rightful place and made her way outside to the lawn. She was met with a sea of students and parents already seated. Of course she saw no one familiar in the crowd. Six months in this place had not been worth learning anyone's name or face. So she sat quietly on her allocated seat and paid no mind to the two strangers sitting next to her. The ceremony passes in a blur, names were called, names she had never heard before. She was positively surprised she even realized when her own name was called and the diploma handed to her by a white haired man with clammy hands. Once it was all over, everyone around her seemed to be hugging and congratulating each other. All she wanted was to get out of this place.

As she made her way away from the people she had gone to school with for a few months, she stopped in her tracks as she saw one familiar person, waiting for her on the edge of the lawn. She swallowed and stuck her chin up, making her way to him.

"Father, I did not think I'd see you here," Eleanor said simply. Her father scoffed and looked at her disapprovingly.

"Of course I wanted to see my only child graduate. I am proud of you, Eleanor," he said and she hated herself. Hated the fact that those words pulled on her heartstrings, that his approval was still something that she wanted, and needed. The emotions bubbling under the surface would never be revealed to the man in front of her, not if it was up to her. Before she could compose herself, he continued.

"You should run home and make yourself presentable, we have many highly esteemed guests coming to celebrate you. And do something with your hair," he said while making a face of utter disapproval. And so, once again any hopeful feelings that her father might actually be something more than just the donor of half her DNA were trumped. She looked at him squarely in the eye and nodded. She would be there; she would allow herself to be paraded in front of these important people one last time. She would hate every second of it, but come fall, she was out of his house and all this would just be a distant memory.

* * *

Her graduation party was everything she expected it to be. Her home was filled with solemn men in suits, their significantly younger wives in their arms when they slipped envelopes to her as discreetly as possible, while at the same time making sure everyone that mattered took note. She circled the room as a good upper class girl would, smiling the fakest smile to the people offering their congratulations. The champagne glass in her hand emptied fast, again and then once more. After an hour of polite mingling, she saw her father head to the door, shaking the hands of a man with long hair and facial hair. He did not fit, even if his suit was finely tailored. Her father occupied with the man, she saw her chance for a break and she slipped to the balcony, feeling the cooling night air brush against her skin. The sun had almost set, just an inkling of light still in the horizon coloring the sky to resemble a painting. Here she could almost forget the party in her honor, which in fact was just an opportunity for her father to talk business. There was no one here she knew, or cared about. She never felt so utterly alone than when she was among those people. Here, alone in the balcony, that feeling faded. Here she could breathe again. When she was alone, she did not have to pretend, she could just be.

The sound of the balcony door sliding open pulled her away from her thoughts, her back stiffening at the thought of inevitable small talk. Slowly she turned to face the person who dared to disturb her.

"Didn't expect to meet me again, angel?" the man rasped, that smirk still plastered on his damn handsome face.

"You!" she snapped. It was indeed the man from this morning, the devilishly handsome asshole on the motorcycle. Only now he was standing on her balcony, wearing a well-tailored suit. All black, down to his shirt and tie. His hair was still open, the stubble still decorating his chin. Looking at him sent shivers down her spine, and oh how she hated her traitorous body for that reaction.

"Me. Truth be told, I did not expect to see you again, either. But I can't say I'm not enjoying this," he mused and moved to lean on the railing, staring into the horizon.

"What the hell are you doing here? And better yet, who the hell are you?" The man turned to face her, and it did not escape her notice how his gaze traveled from her eyes to her toes and back up again.

"Charles Vane," he rasped and extended his hand. For a while she stared at the hand reaching for her, waiting, until she finally took it and shook his hand. His hand was large and calloused, strong and firm, making her feel like a dainty little girl compared to him. She pushed that thought out of her head.

"Eleanor Guthrie," she stated, looking him in the eye. His eye brows raised at her remark and something resembling recognition set into his eyes.

"Then you are just the person I was meant to find," he said and stuck a hand in his breast pocket and handed her an envelope, identical to the ones she had a two dozen in her purse already. In a neat handwriting it said Ms. Eleanor Guthrie on it.

"You work with my father then," she mumbled, still staring at the envelope, trying to piece everything together. Her mind shifted to earlier today, to him on his motorcycle, wearing his leather jacket. It had had a club logo on it, she was sure.

"Something like that," he admitted and she finally managed to look up to him once more. A silence fell between them, but soon enough he broke it. She was expecting him to congratulate her, just like everyone else, that's how it went, a handshake, the envelope and their congratulations on completing this chapter of her life successfully. But he surprised her instead.

"Do you often throw tantrums on the freeway, angel?" he asked, a smirk playing on this lips. She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to find her anger again, but failing.

"I am not going to apologize to you, if that's what you're aiming at. And stop calling me angel, asshole." He threw his head back and laughed sweetly.

"I was not aiming for one. It's just not every day a woman screams at me in the middle of traffic out of all places."

"And where do they usually scream at you?" she asked, a smile playing on her lips.

"First they scream in my bed and then they scream because they were asked to leave," he said with a straight face.

"I think people should scream at you more often in traffic, then. Perhaps help to shrink that ego of yours just a bit," she said and crossed her arms on her chest.

"You can yell at me anywhere, angel," he rasped, and with that left her standing alone in the balcony. Eleanor looked at his back disappearing into the crowd inside, feeling like this was not the last time she would come face to face with Charles Vane. And truth be told, she was looking forward to the next time.


	2. Chapter 2

A week from her graduation had passed. On Saturday morning, she stirred from her sleep. Her bedroom was bathing in sunlight and she groaned, lifting up her watch from the night stand to find a reason for this ungodly brightness. She blinked. 11:25 am, the watch told her. She sighed and rubbed her sleepy eyes. This was not how she had thought her summer would start. Her plan had been to have one summer of freedom before she would head to Berkley. One summer of complete freedom, no school, no work and just having fun. However, she wasn't all that sure she was having fun. Classic Eleanor, she thought to herself. Taking time off to do nothing and get so bored doing nothing that twelve hours of sleep seemed like the best way to spend her time.

Finally, she managed to sit up and let her feet feel the warm plushy rug beneath them. Her stomach growled in hunger, and no wonder, it had been a good fifteen hours since her last meal. This so called summer of freedom was clearly doing her no good. She wrapped herself in a smooth, silky robe and made her way out of her room towards the kitchen, as her stomach guided her. The marble felt cold against her bare feet as she stepped outside over the threshold. She could now hear low agitated voices coming out of her father's study. She ignored it and made her way to the kitchen, only she did not get that far. In the lounge by the kitchen, a man was sitting on her alabaster couch, his arms spread across the back rest, his legs set wide, taking as much room as he possibly could with his body. He clearly did not hear her come in, as he kept staring at the TV, which was on mute. On the screen a lion and a hyena were engaged in a bloody battle. For a while she just stood there watching him watch the show, until she couldn't take it anymore.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?" she said, his eyes finally leaving the screen and taking in her form just a few feet away from him. His face stayed focused, as it had been when he was watching the documentary, but now his eyes seemed brighter, somehow.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Charles rasped, his eyes never leaving hers. His stare should have felt uncomfortable, she thought, but instead she felt a small jolt of satisfaction run through her body.

"You didn't answer the question," she pressed on, crossing her arms.

"Came with Teach, he's in there with you father," he said and gestured to her father's study, from where she still could hear the sound of an argument coming from. Her brows knitted together as she thought of what was really going on behind those closed doors, but she just could not make herself focus on that as she was standing here with him. He was a hard man to not give your full attention to.

"What, does he need a bodyguard?" He chuckled at her comment.

"Not really, but this visit has already proven to be well worth my time," he said, his eyes travelling her body. She was not dressed indecently by any means, but the look he gave her reminded her of the fact that she was not wearing a bra. She felt... exposed.

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get some breakfast," she said and exited the lounge area, hearing the sound of his boots following her. It brought a small smile on her lips. She immediately scolded herself for her reaction. She did not know this man, so why was she reacting like this to his presence?

Charles sat himself down on one of the bar stools around the island. Eleanor could feel his gaze on her back as she screened the fridge, trying to find something to eat, finally settling for eggs. As she went through the motions of frying the eggs and popping toast into the toaster, he said nothing. She could still feel his eyes on her. And that feeling was exhilarating. Finally, her breakfast prepared, she sat right across from him, staring into those grey-blue eyes, waiting for him to say something, anything. But he kept silent, just looking at her, while she ate her eggs and toast. Eleanor had had her share of odd interactions with people, but this was something else. While the silence seemed to be weighing heavily down on them, almost suffocating, she still reveled in the feeling. As if this was her natural state, barely breathing.

Taking the final bite of her toast, Eleanor looked up from her plate, only to see Charles reach out to her over the island, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. His hand lingered there on her cheek, and some distant part of her brain was telling her that this was weird and creepy, but she did not feel it. His hand against her skin was rough and hard, and she could not help but think how that hand would feel if it touched her elsewhere. She longed to know how his touch would feel all over her body, on every inch of her skin.

She forced that idea out of her head, her mind taking charge once again. He must have seen the change in her eyes, as he withdrew his hand. There was something unrecognizable in his eyes, and she felt an overwhelming urge to look away, but she found herself unable to do so.

The door to her father's study was opened and slammed closed, making her jump, forcing her thoughts to return to this moment, away from Charles. With that he was on his feet, ready to leave. He threw her once last look.

"Later, angel," he rasped, leaving her kitchen, leaving her alone with a feeling of utter confusion. Who was this man, and why the hell was she acting like an utter brainless idiot when she was with him? She shook her head and tried to wrap her brain around the silent exchange in the breakfast table, but she just could not make sense of it. With a deep sigh she cleared away the dishes and promised herself not to think about it any longer. A promise she was bound to break.

***  
Two days later, Eleanor found herself on a club, out of all places. She looked at the only person she perhaps would have called a friend in this place her father had made her move to six months ago. Max was sipping a glass of champagne and looking around, prying for the next man to pay for her drink. It made Eleanor chuckle. The fact that the girl was as gay as they came never stopped her from using her appearance in her advantage. Max had worked in the first bar Eleanor stumbled in during her first night here in California. Max had absolutely refused to serve her without an ID, and instead Eleanor had wound up in her bed. It seemed like forever ago. At first she had fancied herself to be quite in love with Max, but that was months ago. They were better as friends anyway.

"Ugh, bikers. I absolutely detest them," she said and nodded to the direction of the door. Eleanor shrugged, not bothering to watch. Max absolutely detested quite a lot of things from hipsters to bodybuilders and the list went on. Eleanor knocked back her whiskey sour, wishing she had just order whiskey neat.

"You've had four drinks, are you ready to dance?" Max asked, knowing fully well Eleanor would refuse to dance if she was not properly intoxicated and her inhibitions lowered enough. She nodded and took Max's hand, letting her lead her to the dance floor.

Eleanor did not know most of the songs the DJ played, but the beat was enough. She closed her eyes, dancing the night away, forgetting all about that man who had plagued her for the last two days. It felt like hours had passes, but Eleanor's watch told her that was not true. Her dry mouth demanded water and she motioned Max her plans and staggered off the dance floor. On her way to the bar she passed people sitting in booths, letting her gaze graze over the people, until her eyes found someone familiar. There he was, Charles Vane, sitting in a booth with a woman on both sides of him. A man and a woman were also sitting in the booth, but they had a distance to Charles, who was whispering something to the ear of the woman on his left. Eleanor suddenly felt the beat of her own heart agonizingly hard in her chest. An unfamiliar anger rose from somewhere deep inside her. The rational part of her brain told her to keep walking, pretend like she never saw him, but she was Eleanor Guthrie, and had always been quick to anger.

"Are you fucking stalking me?" she accused him loudly, his head turning to face her. He did not look surprised to see her, but he did look pleased. He did not smile, but his eyes seemed to brighten at the sight of her. And she was sure her eyes looked the same, for just looking at him, even sitting there with his arms wrapped around other women, her whole body reacted to his presence.

"Just a happy coincidence, angel," he rasped, just loud enough for her to hear.

"I'm having a bit of a hard time believing that. You show up at my house, twice, you are at the club I regularly go to. Seems a bit like stalking to me," she fumed, the anger building despite, or perhaps because, her whole being urged her to pull him out of that booth and kiss him, feel him.

"I'm not stalking you, Eleanor," he said, his eyes so serious, fixed on her. He looked so focused, so in this moment. Suddenly all this seemed so suffocating, the club, him, his arms around those women, and without a word she turned her back on him and rushed to the door.

The cool night air in her lungs seemed to sober her up. She dug her cellphone out of her clutch, sending Max a quick text she was going to go home. She felt a bit shitty leaving her here alone, but she could take care of herself. Just as she was opening the Uber app, a hand took hold of her shoulder, spinning her around. And by now, she could have known the feel of that hand anywhere. Her whole body reacted to his touch, sending shivers down her spine.

"What the fuck are you doing, Eleanor," he asked, his voice harsh and almost rude. He was so close to her, less than a foot between them, his eyes bright and angry. And, oh, she felt his presence more acutely than she had felt it ever before.

"The fuck's it to you?" she snapped, playing with the idea that she would push his hand off her shoulder, but she could not find the will to do so.

"You're not getting on a fucking Uber alone," he pressed, the grasp on her shoulder tightening.

"Watch me," she said and looked back to her phone.

"I'll take you," her murmured. She lifted her brows.

"So you'd rather drive me home when you've just come out of a club than let me take an Uber. Your logic is amazing, Charles."

"We just got here, I only had half a beer, I'm good to drive. You aren't hopping into the car of some potential rapist," he rasped. His hand traveled from her shoulder to her forearm, sending shivers down her spine. If this had been anyone else, she would have snapped that he could also be a potential rapist, and that she did not know him at all, but she did not say it, did not even want to. All she wanted at that moment was to keep being around him, breathing the air he was breathing.

"Fine, but only because I don't want to spend the money," she finally agreed. It was obviously a lie, and they both knew it, but he said nothing. His hand roamed from her forearm to the small of her back as he guided her to the direction of his car. They walked in silence to his truck. She wondered silently where his bike was and why hadn't he rode here on that, but did not say it out loud. He opened her door for her and helped her in. As he turned the key and the engine roared to life, she finally looked at him again.

"Why do you care?" she asked, "Why do care if I take an Uber or not?" she specified. She saw him grip the wheel tighter.

"I don't know, Eleanor." The only sound in the cabin was the engine, and their steady breathing. She didn't feel like breaking it, for it once again felt as if she was suffocating, drowning in that silence, but she savored the feeling. It was only fifteen minutes until he pulled upon on her drive way. The house was dark, just the porch light on. Her father's car was not there.

She turned to look at him, and saw he was already staring down a her. She cleared her throat.

"Thank you, Charles. Even if this was not necessary. Thanks for giving me a ride," with that she opened the passenger door.

"Eleanor," he breathed, his hand taking hold of hers, making her turn to look at him. For a second she thought he might lean in to kiss her.

"Sweet dreams," he finally said, letting go of her hand. With that she got out of the car, watching him take off into the night. Her heart beat against her ribcage as if it was trying to escape. Charles Vane had unsettled her in the most exquisite manner. And she needed more. Little did she know, that she was going to get so much more. That just five weeks from now she would have all of him, whether she wanted it or not.


	3. Chapter 3

As Eleanor stepped into the dark house, she still thought of Charles. His touch seemed to be lingering in all the places his hands had landed on. The darkness and silence of the house seemed to amplify the feeling of intensity she had just been experiencing. Why he made her feel this way, she did not know, but right now she decided not to question it.

She made her way to the kitchen, grabbed the orange juice from the fridge and poured herself a glass. On the otherwise spotless counter there was a note. She leaned in to see the words in the dimly lit room. It was her father's handwriting.

 _Eleanor,_

 _I am going to be out of town for a week on business._

 _-Dad_

Eleanor rolled her eyes. Short and plain, as always. If there ever was a time when her father would leave her a detailed note, she'd probably go into shock. She gulped down her juice and finally relieved her feet of her shoes. Why did she always let Max talk her into wearing into wearing high heels? They were like a medieval torture device. She sighed, feeling the cool floor against her bare feet, discarding the shoes in the kitchen and heading to her room, where she fell asleep immediately when her head hit the pillow. To say she didn't dream of Charles Vane would have been a lie.

She woke up with a smile on her face. It was one of those mornings when you wake up happy and for the first five minutes have no idea why you are so happy. But then she remembered Charles, driving her home, making her feel like he did. The feeling was so delicious she could not make herself get out of bed. Instead she stared at the ceiling and basked in the feeling as long as she could, for she knew feelings thins good were not meant to last.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. She lifted her watch from the night stand and thought it was way too early for anyone to be visiting. Probably Jehovah's Witnesses, she mused, but decided to go open the door none the less, for sometimes her father had packages delivered and it was best not to miss them.

So she paddled to the door in her shorts and t-shirt, opening the door without checking who was at the door. Eleanor should have known better, but alas, she did it anyway.

Behind the door she saw three people she had seen before, and two unknown faces. In the front step was Edward Teach, the man her father had business dealings with. Behind him were two similar looking men with beards and long hair, and lastly, she saw Charles, standing with the man who she had seen sitting at the club with the red-haired woman. Charles was not looking at her, but talking with the man with odd sideburns. Eleanor found them to be quite tasteless.

Teach drew her attention away from Charles by saying good morning to her.

"Morning. How can I help you, gentlemen?" she said, the sarcasm seeping through her voice. This bunch looked anything but gentlemanly.

"Might we have a word with your father?" Teach said, taking a step forward. The step was not long, nor was he particularly close to her, but still, she suddenly felt herself threatened. She pondered slamming the door in their face, but decided against it.

"My father is not here, he's out of town on business," she replied truthfully. Teach's browns furrowed and his eyes seemed to drill into hers, looking for answers.

"And when might he be back?" he prompted, his demeanor somehow growing more and more threatening by the minute. An uncomfortable feeling filled Eleanor's chest. What was going on in here?

"He left a note, saying he'd be gone for a week," she said, truthful yet again, but now she was beginning to think better of it. Perhaps she should have said he's be back soon and tell these men to try contact her father through his cellphone and not at his home. But what was done was done.

One of the men with red hair and similarly red beard laughed humorlessly. The sound made Eleanor shiver and she immediately disliked him.

"He's fled. That fucking coward," the man said with a harsh voice.

"You don't know that, Hands. He could just be out of town," the man next to Charles countered. Charles was still not looking at her, and she hated to admit it, but it bothered her more than anything else in this situation. She wanted to scream at him to just look at her, to acknowledge her presence, to make sure she had not just imagined the things that happened between them, that she had not exaggerated them in her head. But she was not that woman, she was not needy, so she turned her eyes away from him, her expression as unmoving as stone.

"Jack, you're so fucking naïve. His phone has been disconnected, and he's nowhere to be found. He's fled," the man called Hands barked, his eyes staring down on her. She remained still, keeping her posture, unmoving. Trying not to show her surprise. Her father's cellphone had been disconnected? She itched to go inside and fetch her cellphone and try to reach him herself.

"Hands it right. He's not here. He's clearly left town. We don't have a lot of options," Teach said, finally making Charles direct his eyes to the door, first glancing at Teach, then his eyes finding hers. There was something in his eyes she did not recognize. Had she known him better, she would have known it was fear. A look Charles Vane had on his face so rarely, only a few people in the world recognized.

"Right, so we need to come in, Eleanor, if you don't mind," Teach said so casually, as if he was inviting her for tea. She looked at him in confusion.

"And what makes you think I will let you come in?" she challenged.

"Because I'm asking nicely. Trust me, I won't ask nicely twice," Teach said, a threat so clear in his voice.

For a second Eleanor thought her choices over, and finally decided to do as she had thought of doing before. As quickly as she could, she slammed the door in their face and turned around to run to the phone to call the authorities. But she did not hear the door slam behind her and dread was settling in her throat as she heard heavy steps follow behind her. She tried to run, she did, but all too soon a rough hand grabbed her arms and stopped her in her tracks. She glanced at her captor, seeing Hands standing behind her, now holding both her arms with his calloused hands. She tried to fight back, kick, struggle, throw her weight around, but it was no help. he was strong, and she weighed almost nothing compared to him

"Have you had quite enough of that, darling?" the man asked, his head peeking over her shoulder. Without thinking she spat right on his face. His movements halted and for a moment Eleanor feared she had made a grave mistake, but then he laughed.

"You got some spunk in you, darling. Perhaps you'll survive this after all," he said and dragged her to the living room, allowing her to see the other four men scatter around the house, hearing doors being opened and shut.

Minutes ticked by and she just stood there, in her house, a stranger's hands on her arms, keeping her still. Her mind seemed clear, she did not feel fear, and to be fair, that scared her a bit, for she had to admit that Charles' presence soothed her. Even though she was being held against her will by a man she knew, and he had not protested one bit, she still felt he would not allow anyone to seriously harm her. She cursed those feelings, trying to push them back and summon some long lost self-preservation intact.

In the midst of her speculations he man with weird sideburns, Jack, came back to the living room.

"There's no clothes in his closet, no suitcases anywhere," he said and sighed. He glanced at Eleanor, his eyes so sincerely apologetic. She wanted to scream at him, that of course the suitcases were gone, he was on a business trip. But the sound of drilling shut her up. The ear piercing noise continued for a while, but before long the other three men came in to the living room, shaking their heads.

"The safe is empty, there's nothing there. Well, nothing of value," Teach said and offered a paper to Eleanor, which she reluctantly took with her hand that Hands saw fit to release. She recognized her father's handwriting before she made out the words.

 _I'm sorry, Eleanor._

That was all it said. Just those three words. Her breathing suddenly felt labored and she felt tears threatening to fall down on her cheeks. But she bit her tongue and kept her poise. So it was true, he had left, with all the money he had in the house, with all the clothes. But why, she did not understand. All she knew was that for some reason unknown to her, she was being held in her own house against her will by five brutish men.

And one of those men was someone she had been getting painfully close to. Charles was standing across the living room, still not looking at her. He stood tall and stoic, looking just as impressive as he always did, with his dark yet faded jeans, his leather jacket, and his long hair. His jaw was set, and his profile unreadable. Something seemed to get stuck in her throat. And she detested that feeling. She did not know this man; she should have no expectations of him. And yet she did.

She turned her eyes away from him, if this was how things were, she was determined to suffocate any feelings for him she might have developed.

"That's it then, we have only one option left," Hands barked behind her, making her shiver in distaste. Teach's eyes turned to Hands behind her and he nodded. From the corner of her eye Eleanor saw that Charles suddenly took a step toward her, but then stopped, saying nothing.

"Take her to the car. Discreetly, Hands. Take Jack with you," Teach ordered. Eleanor felt panic rising, her self-preservation instincts finally kicking in. _What were they going to do to her?_

Hands started walking her toward the front door, and she felt the need to struggle but she already knew it was of no use. So she walked to the door with Hands' hands still on her, Jack walking behind them. On the driveway there was a black SVU parked behind three motorcycles. The vehicle was black, with tinted windows. Jack sped past them to the backseat door and held it open so Hands could push her inside. Then the man leaned in to clearly fasten her seatbelt but she reached for it first.

"I can fucking fasted my own seatbelt, you creepy old man," Eleanor hissed, but it served only to make him laugh. Hands slammed the door close and immediately Eleanor tried the handle. Locked. Her heart sank to her stomach.

The doors in the front opened and the men stepped in, the engine turned on. The car took off and Jack turned to look at her sitting in the backseat.

"I really am sorry for this situation, Miss Guthrie. But there's simply no way around this," Jack said, with a look of sincere apology on his face. But she was buying none of that.

"Fuck you," she hissed. He nodded, as if he understood and turned away from her, leaving her sit there on her own. And just then it was kicking in. She was being kidnapped. _She had been kidnapped._ She tried to make sense of all this, but here she was, in the back seat of a car with tinted windows, being taken somewhere. For all she knew, they might be planning on killing her. Eleanor looked at the familiar scenery changing to a more unfamiliar one. Only one thought was running through her brain. _I have to get out of here._


	4. Chapter 4

Eleanor knew they were most likely still in California. She had been trying to keep track of the route, but it had proven to be impossible to remember all the turns they took. Her best guess was that they were somewhere in Northern California when the car finally came to a halt. They had parked in front of an ordinary looking house, painted white, nothing special about it. Nothing that might help the police locate her. She sighed as she gazed her surroundings. They were in the middle of nowhere. No neighbors, nothing.

Jack and Hands got up from the car and Hands opened the door, grabbing her arm once again. She wanted to protest, to scream and to shout, but she knew that was most likely not in her best interest right now. So she stayed quiet, no matter how difficult it was.

So she got out of the car without protests. Hands steered her toward the front door, which Jack was already holding open for them. The floor boards creaked under their weight as they crossed the doorstep. The staircase started almost immediately once they stepped into the foyer and Hands started steering her up the stairs.

They climbed the first flight of stairs, but did not stop on the second floor, but on the third one. The house looked so ordinary to Eleanor. It had tacky carpeting, and it seemed like someone's grandmother had picked the paintings on the walls. She even spotted vases on the hallway, standing on doylies. A fucking doyly, she thought to herself. This place was so far removed from what she would have thought a biker house to be like.

And perhaps it wasn't one, maybe it was just a place to store her, so no one would find her, she thought, a fear starting to slowly creep into her heart.

Hands opened the furthest door down the hallway and pushed her in.

"Have fun, girlie," he said with a toothy grin and slammed the door closed. Then she heard the lock click and she swallowed. She was not going to freak out, she promised herself. She would figure this out, she would.

So she did the only thing she possibly could, she looked around the room she had been locked in. It also looked as if a grandmother had decorated it. The cover on the bed was pink and frilly and there was cross stitch art of cats on the walls. The dresser seemed to be an antique of some sort and she walked to it, opening the drawers. Empty. Nothing at all in them. She walked to the closet and opened that as well and sighed. It was just as empty as the dresser. So here she was, stuck in a room in a top and short shorts, wearing no bra. Somehow the fact that she was being held here sans bra and without a change of clothes bothered her more that the fact that she had just been kidnapped.

Maybe she was losing it, or maybe her mind was just trying to do her a solid and focus on the unimportant facts to stop her from thinking about the magnitude of the situation she was actually in. Not knowing what to do, she walked to the bed and just lay on top it, staring at the ceiling. _What now?_

* * *

Charles drove up the driveway just in time to see Hands dragging Eleanor inside. The sight made him grimace. He'd never been fond of the man, and now he was starting to despise him. He killed the engine and kicked down the stand, pulling off his helmet and fixing his gaze to the other two men parking their bikes next to his. Caesar got off his bike and was already making his way inside the house, but Charles was not concerned with him, but with Teach.

"What do you think will come out of this?" Charles asked, but it came across more like a demand. Teach frowned at him staring down at him hard. Charles knew it would have been better to look away from Teach, to show some sign of submission, an admission that he knew who was in charge here. But he couldn't do that. Charles Vane was not a man to show humility, and he was not a man to back down. So he lifted his chin and stared into the eyes of the man who was the closest to a father and a mentor he had ever had.

"I hope to get my money back, Charles. Guthrie will pay up once he learns we have his daughter," Teach said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Charles couldn't help but to scoff.

"You really think he will come back? He left his daughter here alone, knowing fully well we'd come after her after what he did." Charles knew men like Richard Guthrie. Ungrateful scumbags who never thought about anyone else's wellbeing except their own. He was the type of a man Charles despised, a man he would not hesitate to cut his knife into.

Teach sighed and ran his hand through his beard.

"You might be right, but what else am I supposed to do? Just let him get away with it without consequences? You know that is not an option. No one crosses us and gets away with it," Teach said, his voice frustrated.

Teach was not a bad man, Charles knew. He did not take any pleasure in kidnapping the daughter of a man who had wronged him, but he did it none the less. And Charles understood it, he understood it more than well. But it didn't mean he had to like it. He couldn't help but glance to the windows on the third floor, wondering which room Hands had locked her in. And Teach, he missed nothing.

"Is there something I should know?" Teach asked and Charles shook his head. After having been a part of her kidnapping, all the moments they had shared meant nothing to her now, he was sure. If she had even felt them as he had in the first place.

"No, just wondering what you will do to her once you realize you won't be getting your money," Charles muttered.

"We have a long way to go before I will know that for sure," Teach said and the look on his face told Charles all he needed to know. Eleanor would be here until the day the debt was paid, however long it took. And Charles did not like it one bit.

But he nodded, agreeing to whatever Teach was planning, but simultaneously feeling like his insides were starting to rot. Teach reached out to him and slammed his hand on his shoulder and motioned him to come inside.

They walked to the kitchen, where all of the men were already sitting, Idelle serving them lunch. Jack immediately caught Charles' eye as he entered the room and his friend lifted his brow at him, as if to ask what was wrong with him. Charles turned his eyes away from Jack and looked at Hands, who was gobbling down the chicken drumstick at a sickening speed. Charles took a seat right across from him, his face stone, not reflecting the disgust he was starting to feel for the man.

"A good day's work, if I say so myself," Hands grinned from between bites.

"You call kidnapping an eighteen-year-old girl a good day's work?" Jack asked, the sarcasm painfully obvious in his words. Charles gritted his teeth.

"We gotta get our money back, don't we?" Hands grinned and continued eating. Jack scoffed and looked away from the man, motioning Idelle to pour him more beer.

"No one likes doing this, Rackham," Caesar said quietly from his corner and his eyes flickered to Charles, just for a moment, but he did not miss it.

"I'd argue some of us do," Jack sneered and motioned to Hands, who just chuckled at the accusation.

"I won't object to having that girl around, she's pretty," Hands laughed. Every hair on Charles' body seemed to rise up at the mention. The thought of the man watching her made him tighten his fists under the table.

"She is here for one reason only," Teach reminded them. "She is our guest of sorts. And it doesn't do to keep our guest without nourishment, now does it. Idelle, please take some food upstairs for Miss Guthrie," Teach smiled at the woman, who smiled back, gathering food on an empty plate according to Teach's instructions.

"Are you sure she is here for just one reason, Teach? I'd love to get a taste of her," Hands continued and suddenly Charles found himself standing up, his hands fisted, leaning to the table and staring at Hands.

"Watch yourself, old man," Charles heard himself saying before he could even try to think before he spoke. And in that moment, he did not regret it. All he wanted was to wipe that disgusting smile off the face of the man.

Hands narrowed his eyes at Charles, taking in his posture. His smile turned into a sneer.

"So you could have her all to yourself, is that it, Charles?" he questioned him. "I'm sure we can all get a taste, don't be greedy."

"You go anywhere near her and I'll cut your balls off," he said, again his mouth speaking before he could even realize what he was saying. He turned on his heels and walked out of the kitchen and all the way outside to the back yard, where he searched his pockets for the pack of cigarettes. He found one and lit it, letting the smoke linger in his lungs and calm him down.

Except it did almost nothing to calm him down. The idea of Hands' hands on Eleanor made him see red. And it made him angry at himself. Why the fuck did he care? Why did he care of this woman he had met three times prior to the kidnapping, and when one of those encounters had been her yelling at him from the top of her lungs? Well, Charles had to admit that first encounter had turned him on. An angel in a white dress, standing in the middle of the highway, yelling and cursing at him. He smiled at the thought, the cigarette still in his lip.

Behind him, Charles heard the backdoor open. Without turning he just knew it was Jack. He just made too much noise to be anyone else. Jack stopped besides him, frowning at the cigarette.

"You know those give you cancer," he mumbled for the thousand time.

"I never planned on living long enough to get cancer," he replied, like he always did.

"So... what was that inside?" Jack said after a moment of silence.

"Nothing." He could feel Jack's eyes on him, but he just stared at the swing on the back, swaying in the wind.

"Nothing? So you just felt like threatening a man who outranks you for fun?"

"Sure, why not," Charles said, almost able to feel Jack rolling his eyes.

"Had nothing to do with one Miss Eleanor Guthrie, I'm sure," Jack muttered under his breath.

"So what if it did," Charles challenged, his jaw tightening. Jack sighed and from the corner of his eye Charles saw his friend rubbing his brows.

"That's just not smart, Charles. We kidnapped her, she is out prisoner. This will not end well." Charles shrugged at his words.

"Maybe I just like to live dangerously."

"But why her, Charles? There have been so many women, why this one?" Jack pleaded for an answer.

"Because when I met her, she was angry," he said, and Jack looked at him like he was insane, not knowing what he meant. And to be quite honest, Charles wasn't sure what he meant either, but he knew those words were the truth.

Unbeknownst to Charles, Eleanor Guthrie was staring down at him just as he said the words. Through the third floor ventilation window, she couldn't have heard much, but oh, she still heard plenty.


End file.
